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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932294">Suit Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin'>DelilahMcMuffin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, I don't even know where to begin, Intercrural Sex, M/M, fiances, filth &amp; feelings, where it all began</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:07:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick smiles indulgently. “So you and Alexis didn’t pretend to be lawyers so you could finagle your way into a meeting with Wendy and the Australian Blouse Barn people?”</p><p>“Um, technically, only Alexis pretended to be a lawyer. I just...didn't correct the Blouse Barn lady when she made the same assumption about me.”</p><p>Patrick nods and his eyes are so fond. “Why didn’t you tell me?"</p><p>David shrugs. “I told you Wendy gave me the money I used to start the store.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. “But you made it sound like it was some kind of severance package or something. You didn’t tell me that you got her the money, and then she passed a fair chunk of it over to you.”</p><p><b>Or:</b> Patrick learns how David <em>really</em> got the money and has feelings about it. Filth &amp; Feelings and a gross misuse of office space ensue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>363</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Suit Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've read and re-read this so many times that any errors in spelling and grammar must be extremely sneaky and have earned their place in this fic. (AKA: I'm not editing this again).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Who’s that?” </p><p>Alexis looks up from the display of new lip balm she’s been eyeing with barely contained desire. “Hmm? Who’s who?”</p><p>“That,” Patrick says, pointing out the large picture windows fronting the store to the petite blonde woman standing out front of the cafe. She’s deep in a very one-sided conversation with Stevie, and even from across the street Patrick can see how Stevie’s eyes are darting, looking for an escape route. </p><p>“Ohmygod, I think it’s…that’s <em> Wendy</em>!” Alexis exclaims, squinting at the pair across the street. </p><p>Patrick frowns. “Wendy? Why does that name sound familiar?” It’s a point of pride for him to know all of their customers which, realistically, means he knows everyone in town. But he can’t recall ever having seen this woman before.</p><p>And he’s sure he’d remember her. She’s vibrantly dressed in floating layers of luridly clashing fabrics. And even from his vantage point across the main intersection, he can see the copious bangles and chunky beaded jewelry hanging from her wrists and around her neck. He wonders if she sounds like a one woman percussion band when she walks. He’s ready to bet good money she smells either like Patchouli or some overtly floral perfume that would definitely cause his eyes to water and his throat to itch. </p><p>“<em>You </em> know,” Alexis says, bringing Patrick back to the present. “<em>Wendy </em> Wendy. David’s Wendy.”</p><p>Patrick must have made a face because Alexis rolls her eyes at him. “Ew, Patrick. No,” she huffs. She turns to look back over at Wendy who is now standing alone on the patio out front of the cafe, Stevie having made her escape. Alexis fixes Patrick with a mischievous little smirk. “Ohmygod, can you imagine?” She cocks her head and grimaces at him, her fingers dancing in front of her with ill contained horror at the sheer idea. “Um, no. Not like, <em> David’s </em> Wendy. But like, <em> Blouse Barn </em>Wendy.”</p><p>“Blouse Barn? Isn’t that…” Patrick muses aloud, more to himself, but Alexis answers anyway.</p><p>“Mmm. That sad little store for middle aged ladies that David worked at?” It sounds like a question, and Patrick waits for her to elaborate, but her eyes have skittered back down to the lip balms. David has already informed both Alexis and Patrick that there are to be no free samples of these new products, and that he’d know if she just flattened them out again. “Ugh,” Alexis groans, twisting a strand of hair between the fingers of one hand, while covetously touching the tip of her other index finger to the lid of the new lip balm. “He was so annoying and smug when she gave him that money. Like, I was there too and I made some <em>very</em> good points.”</p><p>Patrick watches Wendy head into the cafe before Alexis’s words really register in his brain. </p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” he asks, focusing his attention and catching her just as she’s picked up one of the tubes from the counter and is about to twist off the lid. He narrows his eyes at her. “Alexis…” he says warningly. She rolls her eyes at him but dutifully returns the balm to its place amongst its fellows in the display. </p><p>“When did you get to be so mean?” she pouts, but she reaches out to boop his nose affectionately. “You spend too much time with my brother.”</p><p>“Right,” he says, but he can’t help but smile back at her. He’s never had a sister, but he likes the idea of having that kind of relationship with Alexis. He’s seen her give countless nose boops to David, and it’s only since they’d gotten engaged that she’d begun to bestow them on Patrick as well. Like a rite of passage. “But… sorry, Alexis. You said something about Wendy giving him money? What…what money?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">David ❤️ </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"> Meet me @ Ray's in 20 mins </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> Ray's? </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"> Ray's </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> Pretty sure you have your own place now  </span><br/>
<span class="text"> Why are we meeting @ Ray's?  </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"> I have something I want to talk to you about </span><br/>
<span class="breply"> Business related </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> Then why don't we talk at our business? </span><br/>
<span class="text"> That we own together? </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply">Just meet me @ Ray's. </span><br/>
<span class="breply">Please? </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> Should I be worried??? </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"> No </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> Well. I'm going to worry anyway. </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="breply"> I know. </span><br/>
<span class="breply"> See you soon. </span><br/>
<span class="breply"> I love you. </span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>By the time David arrives at Ray’s thirty minutes later, he’s a bundle of nerves. Patrick hasn’t lived at Ray’s for months, so why are they meeting at Ray’s? Patrick had said it was something “business related”, but they could have talked at the store, or at Patrick’s apartment. Or in line at Brebner’s. Or at the café. They could have talked literally anywhere, so why had Patrick insisted on here? Maybe because it was neutral ground? Perhaps Patrick didn’t want David to flip out over something in public. Oh God. Was the store doing that badly? He hadn’t thought so, but he wasn’t the numbers guy. Maybe Patrick had been going over their quarterly reports and found that the store was no longer a viable business. </p><p>He raises his hand to knock when he sees the note taped to the door. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>So David does. </p><p>“Hello?” he calls out, wringing his hands nervously.</p><p>“In here,” comes Patrick’s disembodied voice from around the corner. David carefully side-steps around the photography equipment that always seems to be partially set-up in what should be Ray’s living room. Poking his head around the corner, David sees Patrick sitting at his old desk. He’s smiling up at David, hands clasped together on top of the desk. He’s wearing a blue button-up that David hasn’t seen in a very long time, not since he started filling Patrick’s wardrobe with slightly better quality blue shirts from retailers that didn’t have the word <em> Wearhouse </em> in their names. </p><p>“Hi,” David says. “You wanted to see me?”</p><p>Patrick’s face goes impossibly soft. “I always want to see you, David.” </p><p>David can feel his mouth scooting off to the side without his permission, because Patrick is impossibly sweet and David still can’t believe that he gets to keep him. “Well. That’s...that’s a very nice thing to say.”</p><p>“Mmm. And I always enjoy seeing you too, Patrick, love of my life,” Patrick drawls, his mouth turning up into a smirk on one side.</p><p>“That goes without saying,” David insists, just to see if he can get the other side of Patrick’s mouth to smirk. He does.</p><p>Patrick gets up and rounds the desk, perching on the front edge. He smiles at David. “So I bet you’re wondering why I asked you to meet me here.”</p><p>“The thought had crossed my mind,” David says, hoping that Patrick can’t hear the nerves in his voice. He probably can though. Patrick has an advanced degree in David’s body, his voice, his mind. He can recite David from memory by now.</p><p>“So, I learned something today that I wanted to talk to you about.” Alarm bells go off in David’s head. “Something about you.”</p><p>
  <em> Uh oh. Not good. Very not good. </em>
</p><p>David looks away, eyes darting all over the room, focusing on all of Ray’s awful little tchotchkes on the shelf and his tacky brochures on that tacky rack thing, and a truly startling number of cacti on the windowsill. But then there’s a gentle palm cradling his jaw and eyes that are golden brown and warm like the sun, and David can breathe again.</p><p>“Hey. It’s nothing bad, David. I promise.”</p><p>David searches Patrick’s eyes for the lie he knows isn’t there. If Patrick says it's nothing bad, David trusts him. “Okay.”</p><p>“Alexis was in the store today—”</p><p>“Whatever Alexis said, she’s lying,” David interrupts, because he may trust Patrick, but Alexis is a lying harpy who is always too happy to embarrass him.</p><p>Patrick smiles indulgently. “So you and Alexis didn’t pretend to be lawyers so you could finagle your way into a meeting with Wendy and the Australian Blouse Barn people?”</p><p>“Um, technically, only Alexis pretended to be a lawyer. I just...didn't correct the Blouse Barn lady when she made the same assumption about me.”</p><p>Patrick nods and his eyes are so fond. “Why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>David shrugs. “I told you Wendy gave me the money I used to start the store.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. “But you made it sound like it was some kind of severance package or something. You didn’t tell me that <em> you </em> got her the money, and then she passed a fair chunk of it over to you.”</p><p>David ducks his chin down to his chest. He reaches out to fiddle with one of the buttons on the front of Patrick’s pale blue shirt. “It’s not like it was a big deal. I just...I did it because I wanted her to keep the store open. I was trying to save my job.” He looks up at Patrick, whose eyes have gone from <em> fond </em> to <em> loving </em> and David has to look away again. “I didn’t think it mattered why she gave me the money.”</p><p>“You’re right. It doesn’t really matter,” Patrick says. Then he reaches out and crooks a finger under David’s chin, gently tilting his face so David has to look at him. “But also, I need you to know that how you got the money, how you helped her, was very smart, David.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Mhmm,” Patrick hums. He moves his finger from David’s chin, along his jaw. Then he's cupping David’s face in his warm palm and his finger brushes the shell of David’s ear and makes him shiver. “And very, <em> very </em>sexy.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“So, now I need you to do something for me, David. And I need you to not ask any questions, okay?”</p><p>David frowns. “Mkay. It’s just that historically, that has never really worked out in my favour.” It’s not a question, but David’s voice tilts up at the end, because he is asking, in a way. He’s asking Patrick not to hurt him. Not that he thinks he will. He knows Patrick, knows he will be so careful with the most fragile pieces of David’s heart. </p><p>“I promise you, this time, it will.”</p><p>David nods. He knows it’s true. “Okay.”</p><p>A wide smile spreads across Patrick’s face and it warms David like the sun. “Okay.” Then he gets up, gently moving David aside so he can step past him. He disappears into the small powder room down the hall and emerges carrying a garment bag. “Put this on.”</p><p>David raises an eyebrow. He knows that garment bag. That’s <em> his </em> garment bag. He remembers the last time he wore the contents of that particular garment bag, and he can’t help but raise an intrigued eyebrow. Wordlessly, he takes it from Patrick, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he steps into the powder room and closes the door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When David emerges a few minutes later, he makes a point of making eye contact with Patrick before he carefully tugs the sleeves of the jacket down and adjusts his tie. </p><p>“Wow,” Patrick breathes, his eyes meandering slowly and appreciatively up and down his body. It feels a lot like it did that day with the baseball, and David doesn't hate it. He can feel the heat of his gaze and it ignites a fire somewhere deep inside him. Patrick clears his throat. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are maybe a little unfocused. “Alexis showed me a picture, David. Of you on that day.”</p><p>“Did she?” David purrs, giving his shoulders a little shimmy and watching the way Patrick’s jaw clenches tight at the movement. “And did she happen to tell you to get Stevie to dig around in my wardrobe for this little number?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“Hmm.” David narrows his eyes. “So Alexis showed you a picture of me in this suit,” he says, taking a step closer to Patrick. “And what did you think when you saw it?”</p><p>“I thought, <em> ‘damn. My man looks good in that suit’.” </em></p><p>David smoothes his hands down the front of his suit, needing a moment to collect himself. <em> My man. </em> That’s what Patrick had called him. David has been called many things in his life, but no one has ever laid claim to him like that before. No one but Patrick has ever looked at David and seen him for all that he is and declared, “I want him. That one. He’s mine. My man.” And yet Patrick does it so easily—has been doing it for so long, long before they were even together. He’d sat in this very office while David delivered his ridiculous pitch. He’d listened to David’s rambling voicemails—all eight of them—and decided that David was someone worth taking a chance on. He’d chosen to go into business with David, and then he’d kept choosing David every single day since then. It’s a lot to process.</p><p>“Well,” David says, tugging once more on the cuffs of his suit and letting out a calming breath. Then he looks up at Patrick. “You’ve got me in my suit. And for some reason we’re here in Ray’s office, of all places. So. I assume you have some sort of plan? Or are we just winging this?”</p><p>Patrick grins and hops off his perch on the edge of Ray’s desk. With a few short strides, he’s closed the distance between them and is running his fingers along the edges of David’s lapel. “Well, there is one particular thing I’ve wanted to do with you, pretty much since the day we met,” he says, eyes downcast as he reaches up to straighten David’s tie.</p><p>“Oh?” David’s curiosity is piqued. When Patrick looks up at him, he almost looks shy. “Tell me what you want, honey,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss Patrick, just a soft brush of lips.</p><p>“I was just thinking,” Patrick begins, eyes following the path of his fingers as he trails them down the length of David’s tie, “That you helping Wendy get that money brought you here, to me. And then I thought about how I felt that day, meeting you.” He looks up at David now, his golden brown eyes burning with a fierce love, the tenderest affection, and a smouldering desire. “You were so beautiful, David. And so unique and clever and creative. You sparked something in me that I’d never...I hadn’t ever let myself feel it, not before you.”</p><p>David squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back, overwhelmed. God, how does Patrick just <em> say </em> things like that? Things that are exactly what David needs to hear, but things that are also maybe exactly what Patrick needs to say. David wants to burrow into his brain sometimes, just to see, up close and firsthand, how he can string together a sentence that both builds David up and tears him limb from limb, just like that.</p><p>“Um, same,” David whispers into the small space between them. His words are so inadequate, but they’re the best he can do when his mind and his body are both vibrating with <em> Patrick Patrick Patrick. </em></p><p>He knows it’s impossible, but he swears he can <em> hear </em> Patrick’s teasing smile. And then he opens his eyes and there it is, stretched wide across his face, equal parts taunting and fond. “Liar,” Patrick accuses, but his voice is soft and amused. “You thought I was snippy.”</p><p>David rolls his eyes. “You’ve been talking to Stevie,” he huffs. Patrick’s smile widens into a grin and David absolutely cannot with this impossible man right now. “Mkay. It is possible to think you were both incredibly attractive <em> and </em> insufferably snippy at the same time. It’s called multitasking.”</p><p>Patrick’s smile presses against David’s and he hums and pecks his lips against the jut of David’s chin. “I think you thought I was attractive <em> because </em> I was so snippy. You like snippy.”</p><p>David makes a noise in the back of his throat and purses his lips, trying hard not to smile, but he knows it’s a lost cause. Because it’s not like Patrick is <em> wrong.  </em></p><p>“So, you thought I was beautiful,” he says eventually, shifting the conversation back on topic and away from all the feelings that he wasn’t prepared to feel today. He should have known better, because Patrick seems to have the uncanny ability to pull these feelings from David, like a multicoloured string of silk scarves from a magician’s sleeve. Patrick raises an amused eyebrow at David’s conversational 180, but nods his head, so David continues, “And you’ve lured me back here to Ray’s and got me all dolled up in my lil suit and taken me on a lovely stroll down memory lane, but I just feel like you had something more in mind. That you wanted to do. Here. With me.”</p><p>Patrick’s smile goes a little bit shy, and David loves him for it. “Well, like I said, seeing that picture of you in this suit,” Patrick begins, reverently smoothing his hands down the front of David’s jacket, “It got me thinking about the day we met. And looking back, how much I wanted you.”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” David hums, long and drawn out, giving Patrick time to articulate his thoughts, to give voice to the plan that David knows he has in his head. Knowing Patrick, he’s probably made a spreadsheet about it.</p><p>“And it also made me think about something I’ve <em> always </em> wanted to do, but never...I never had the chance, o-or the right person, and I...I…”</p><p>“Tell me what you want, Patrick,” David urges, his voice soft and encouraging, with a hint of heat behind it. Because he wants Patrick to know that whatever he wants to do, David is all in. He’ll do it. He wants to give Patrick whatever he wants, because he asks for so little and gives David far more than he thinks he deserves.</p><p>“It’s stupid.”<br/>
<br/>
“I bet it’s not,” David says, lowering his lips to Patrick’s for a chaste kiss. When he pulls back, he nips Patrick’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs, earning a quiet whimper from his fiancé. “I want to know, Patrick. Tell me.”</p><p>Patrick looks up at him, his eyes searching David’s. He obviously sees what he needs to see, because then he’s pulling back from David, his mouth curling upward in a smile that is borderline devious on his cherubic face. “I think...I think I’ll show you instead.”</p><p>And then Patrick Brewer, David’s buttoned up, spreadsheet-loving, organizational freak fiancé, turns to Ray’s desk and—with a wink over his shoulder at David—sweeps <em>everything off of Ray’s desk and onto the floor</em>. David knows his eyes are probably bugging out of his head, and his mouth is gaping open, but he doesn’t give a single fuck because <em> that </em> was the hottest fucking thing he has ever seen in his entire life.</p><p>Patrick hops up onto the desk and leans back with his arms behind him, palms flat on the desk top, and lets his legs fall open in a clear invitation. “Come here, David,” he says, his voice a low husky growl that David will be storing in a safe little box in his brain, to be taken out and admired and fondled (and probably jerked off to) at a later date. </p><p>And even though David’s brain is only functioning at half capacity right now (a very generous assessment), he doesn’t need to be told twice. He crowds his way between Patrick’s knees, spreading them wider as he presses as close as he can, leaning over Patrick—looming over him, really. And then he catches Patrick up in a kiss that is all heat and need and want, his tongue pushing for entrance into Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick lets him. Lets him take his mouth, lets him plunder it greedily, until they are both gasping for breath. </p><p>“Fuck Patrick,” David pants, their foreheads pressed together, mouths sharing the charged air between them.</p><p>“Yes please,” Patrick replies and David has to—<em>has to—</em>kiss him again. He’s gentler this time, but thorough, letting his tongue map the familiar planes and valleys of Patrick’s mouth. Patrick swipes his tongue along the underside of David’s and its breathtakingly hot and achingly intimate, all at once.</p><p>Patrick is pushing against David now, sitting up on the edge of the desk and getting his hands under David’s suit jacket and shoving it roughly off his shoulders, their mouths still fused together. David shrugs it from his arms, letting it fall to the floor. And then his hands move to Patrick’s shirt, fumbling with the row of impossible buttons, not wanting to break the kiss to see what he’s working with. He’s done this a hundred times, he should be able to—</p><p>“Fuck it,” Patrick mumbles into David’s mouth, swatting David’s hands away and grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging hard. The sound of threads popping and buttons skittering across the floor makes David bemoan the craftsmanship that went into making that poor, unsuspecting garment. Then he remembers that it was one of Patrick’s old shirts, probably purchased in a three pack from Canadian Fucking Tire and he decides he can live with the loss. He’ll buy Patrick another shirt. He’ll buy him a hundred fucking shirts.</p><p>When it comes to his own shirt, however, he is a little more cautious. It’s not his most expensive piece of clothing, but it’s also not something he can just run to the mall in Elmdale to replace. So. With a groan of apology, he breaks the kiss and begins to unfasten the cuffs at his wrists. Patrick reaches for his tie, loosening it and untucking it from beneath his collar. But then he pauses, gently stroking the soft, silk fabric, seemingly lost in thought. David frees one wrist, then the other, and moves on to undoing the buttons down his front. “Patrick?” he asks as he peels the shirt off his body. He’s about to drop it on the floor along with his jacket, but he just...he can’t. Patrick will understand. “I just...I have to pick up my—” he begins to explain, but Patrick is tightening David’s tie now, knotting it neatly at the base of his throat. </p><p>“What if you left the tie on?” Patrick asks, his voice a sultry growl. He bites his lip and his eyes dart up from the tie to David’s face, then back to the tie. And just like that, David’s shirt and jacket are forgotten on the floor as he nods frantically, messily kissing his way along Patrick’s jaw, trapping his earlobe between his teeth and tugging. He can feel Patrick’s hands fumbling with his belt, and then he’s shucking his pants and underwear in a heap at his feet and pushing Patrick onto his back on the top of Ray’s desk, crawling on top of him and getting a hand between them to undo Patrick’s godawful braided belt while he rocks against Patrick’s thigh. With the belt undone, he moves on to Patrick’s button and fly and then he shoves his hand down the front of Patrick’s jeans—God, they really are tight. Not that David is complaining—and groping for Patrick’s cock through the thin white cotton of his briefs. His cock twitches at the breathy little gasp Patrick lets out.</p><p>“Is this what you want?” David asks, rubbing the heel of his hand along Patrick’s length. “You want me to fuck you? Here? On Ray’s desk?”</p><p>“Yes,” Patrick breathes, chasing David’s mouth with his own, his pupils blown, his eyes nearly as dark as David’s. He winds the silk of the tie around his hand and pulls David closer, fusing their mouths together and this time, it’s Patrick’s tongue that is doing the plundering, invading David’s mouth with a rough precision that makes David’s toes curl. “I want you, David. I wanted you the first time I saw you,” he sighs into David’s mouth. “God, I went to bed that night and touched myself for the first time in a very long time, thinking about you. About this.”</p><p>David ducks his head, his forehead pressed against Patrick’s chest. It’s a heady thing, being wanted by Patrick Brewer. David’s never felt the like. He’s been wined and dined and fucked and sucked, but before Patrick, he’d never been wanted. Not really. Not for himself. And certainly not for forever.</p><p>He pushes himself up, standing once more between Patrick’s legs. Patrick props himself up on his elbows, eyes following David’s every movement as he unlaces his atrocious mountaineering shoes and lets them fall to the floor with a thud. Then he tugs at his jeans, revealing the pale perfection of his glorious thighs until they too are tossed aside, along with his underwear. And then Patrick is there, laid out like a fucking prize on the top of the desk where the rest of David’s life had finally begun almost two years ago.</p><p>“David? Babe?”</p><p>David gives his head a shake. He’d been so lost, remembering that clean cut boy with his tidy haircut and his neat little blue shirt tucked into his scandalously tight jeans. “I wanted to mess you up,” he says, letting his eyes flick up to meet Patrick’s. He wants to look away, but he can’t. He needs to see Patrick’s face when he says what he wants to say. He leans forward and presses his palms to the desk on either side of Patrick’s ribs, pushing his hips into the cradle of Patrick’s pelvis, letting him feel how hard he is, how much he wants him. How much he <em> always </em> wants him. “You were so tidy. I wanted to know what it would take to make you <em> untidy. </em> I wanted to fucking <em> ruin you, </em>Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick blinks those big, loud eyes of his. His tongue darts out, pink and glistening and he licks his lips. Then he has his hand wrapped up in the tie again and is hauling David in for a kiss that knocks the breath out of him, leaving him gasping against Patrick’s open mouth.</p><p>“Ruin me, David,” Patrick moans against his lips. His hand flails behind him, and David hears the sound of a drawer opening and then Patrick is pressing a bottle of lube into his hand. “Fucking ruin me.”</p><p>David heaves himself off of Patrick and pours lube onto his fingers, but Patrick stills him. “You, uh...you don’t need to prep me,” he mumbles, and the shyness that overtakes Patrick’s beautiful face would be adorable if he wasn’t laid out for David like a fucking Adonis carved out of palest marble. </p><p>“Oh?” David raises an inquisitive eyebrow and the blush that flares over Patrick’s cheeks is almost too much for him to bear. </p><p>“I, uh...I prepped myself. At home. After I asked you to meet me. Here.”</p><p>David bites his lower lip at the mental picture of Patrick laid out on his bed, his fingers working to open himself up for David. Because he wanted this. He wanted David to give him this fantasy, to play out this scene with him. “Fuck, that’s hot,” David blurts inelegantly. He lets his eyes drift down between Patrick’s legs, letting his lubed fingers follow the path of his eyes until he’s circling Patrick’s hole with the tip of his index finger. He’s already slick and there is no resistance when David slips the tip inside. The pad of his finger finds that precious little knot inside Patrick, pressing it firmly and greedily drinking in the way his hips cant up into the air and his breath catches in his chest. </p><p>Patrick hasn’t prepped himself as thoroughly as David would have. When he presses in a second finger, Patrick is still so tight. David doesn’t want to hurt him…</p><p>“I want to feel you,” Patrick moans, his head tilted back against the desk, his neck exposed and vulnerable as David slowly fucks into him with his fingers. “Like...like the first time you fucked me, and it hurt...just a little? I...I want that. I want to feel you stretch me, David. So big inside me, so good. Made me feel...oh, God...made me feel like I was made for you.”</p><p>David’s mind almost whites out at that. “Oh my fucking God,” he murmurs to himself, pulling out his fingers and adding more lube. “You keep talking like that and this isn’t going to last long,” he cautions. He gets his hand around his cock and gets himself nice and slick. </p><p>Sliding his hands under Patrick’s thighs, he brings his legs up, ankles resting on David’s shoulders, and his cock slides along the cleft of Patrick’s ass. “You’re sure?” he asks, because he has to. Because he needs to be absolutely certain that Patrick isn’t going to regret not taking the time to open himself up the way that David usually would. Granted, David is probably more careful and cautious in prepping Patrick than he ever would be with himself.</p><p>“I’m sure. I’m so sure, baby,” Patrick whines, lifting his hips off the desk and pressing his ankles hard into the soft meat of David’s shoulders. His cock slips and slides against Patrick’s hole and they both moan with need. “Please, David. I need you. I want it. I want you.”</p><p>Satisfied, David guides his cock to Patrick’s hole, nudging the tip inside and waiting. Patrick inhales sharply, then lets his breath out slowly, lips pursed into a truly obscene little ‘O’ that has David’s mind flipping through countless memories of that mouth around his cock. He closes his eyes and waits. Patrick will let him know when he’s ready for more. And it doesn’t take long before he feels Patrick relaxing around him, letting him in further. It’s so slow—even slower than their first time together—and David has to open his eyes to watch, to see Patrick’s face go on a gorgeous journey from pain to pleasure to impatience as David slowly sinks into him, like a pebble dropped into the sea, languidly meandering down, down, down, until it reaches the bottom.</p><p>“Fuck, David,” Patrick groans when David finally—<em> finally </em>—bottoms out. “God...baby...feels so good.”</p><p>“I’m not hurting you?”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “Nuh uh. So good, David. <em> So </em> good.”</p><p>They stay there like that a moment longer, David watching Patrick as his body adjusts to David. And then Patrick frowns, his brow furrowed, and he lets out an impatient little grunt. “You planning on fucking me anytime soon?”</p><p>David rolls his eyes and turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Patrick’s ankle. Then he wraps his hands around his thighs and pulls out slowly, feeling every ridge and ripple of Patrick along his cock as he does so. Then he pushes back in, hard and fast, and Patrick exhales sharply, raggedly. “Fuck,” he moans, and David does it again, and again, and again, fucking Patrick at a punishing pace, fucking him so hard, he hears the feet of the desk scraping against the floor, and Patrick himself has to grip on to the edge of the desk beside his own hips to keep from sliding across the desk’s bare surface. “Oh, David. Oh fuck. Oh God, oh God, oh God…” </p><p>David’s shoulders are starting to hurt from the constant pressure of Patrick’s heels digging in, so he shifts Patrick’s legs so his knees are bent over David’s elbows and the change in angle makes Patrick arch up off the desk and let out a low, rumbling groan that David has never heard him make before. And before David can ask if he’s okay, Patrick is reaching up with one hand to grab at David’s tie, wrapping it around his hand again and giving it a yank, pulling David closer, crushing their mouths together in an absolutely filthy kiss. It’s all tongues and breath and it’s so gross but so fucking perfect that David wants to fucking scream. He grips Patrick’s hips and shoves his hips forward, deep and hard and Patrick moans into his mouth as he comes, splattering his belly and chest and David’s tie with his come, before he collapses back against the desk, his chest heaving and his legs trembling.</p><p>David begins to pull out. He’ll finish himself off with his hand, add his own release to the masterpiece painted all over Patrick’s torso. But when he does, Patrick whines, wrapping his legs around David’s waist and holding him close.</p><p>“Want you to come in me,” he laments. He opens his eyes and looks up at David with that dopey, sex-sated look he always gets after a good fucking. </p><p>“Honey, your ass is raw,” David placates and Patrick’s lower lip juts out in the beginnings of a pout. David rubs soothingly up and down Patrick’s thighs. He lets his hands trail down over the swell of his ass, giving his cheeks a firm squeeze. He really does love Patrick’s ass. It’s so round and tight. He remembers that first day, when he’d come back with his ruined form with his tail between his legs, and Patrick had been bent over this very desk, his glorious ass and thick gorgeous thighs on full display for David. He remembers feeling very flustered, telling himself that it was embarrassment over his forms, but he knows that wasn’t it, at least not entirely. He’d gone back to his room at the motel that afternoon, glad to find his family all occupied elsewhere, and gotten into the shower, taken himself in hand, and thought about those thighs and that ass. He’d come so hard he’d had to lean against the shower wall until he was sure his legs wouldn’t give out under him.</p><p>“Fuck my thighs then.” Patrick’s voice breaks through the hazy fog of David’s memories. He shakes his head and looks at the man laid out for him. </p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>“Bend me over this desk and fuck my thighs, David,” Patrick repeats and David’s breath catches in his throat. </p><p>“Oh Jesus. God. Yes. Yup. Mhmm,” David stumbles over his words in his haste to get them out. He untangles himself from Patrick’s legs, carefully pulling out, earning himself a pitiful whimper from his fiancé. “I know. I know, honey,” he soothes, helping Patrick to sitting, then to standing, hands on his shoulders as he turns him around. Patrick’s body is soft and malleable after his orgasm and he lets David bend him over, hand gently pressing at the top of his spine, until he’s face down on the desk, palms spread wide and face tilted to the side.</p><p>David tucks his fingers between Patrick’s legs. They’re wet with the lube already dripping out of his hole, but he adds more, because chaffing is a bitch. Then he coats his own cock again and presses into the warm, wet pressure between Patrick’s legs. “God damn,” he breathes when his hips settle against Patrick’s ass. He grips his hips tightly and begins to move, in and out, finding a rhythm that is hard and fast. He’s not going to last long—Patrick feels too good around him. He can feel the head of his cock sliding over Patrick’s swollen, battered hole and he tries to find a new position to avoid causing Patrick any discomfort, but Patrick reaches behind him and grabs David’s hip.</p><p>“Don’t fucking stop. Just like that,” he demands. And how is David supposed to argue with that? So he pushes into Patrick’s thighs again and again, sliding over his perineum, nudging the back of his balls, bringing himself closer and closer to the edge. And just when it’s on the verge of too much, Patrick clenches his thighs so tightly, and David comes on a startled gasp, his whole body trembling at his release. </p><p>“Fuck,” he mumbles, collapsing onto Patrick’s back and pressing a messy kiss to the back of his neck. “Fuck.”</p><p>“Holy shit, David,” Patrick mumbles beneath him. “Holy shit.”</p><p>With a grunt, David straightens up, his back protesting because he’s not 29 anymore. He skims his hand along Patrick’s spine, feeling the movement of his ribs as he breathes. “You okay?”</p><p>“Smuchbtrthanok,” comes the unintelligible response.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” David chuckles, pinching Patrick’s side, right where his love handles would be if he didn’t fill out his body so compactly. </p><p>“I said ‘I’m so much better than okay’, David,” Patrick repeats, pushing himself up on shaky arms. He stretches and turns to face David, looking lazy and sated and well-fucked.</p><p>“Mmm. Glad to hear it,” David replies, leaning in to kiss that blissed-out little smile.</p><p>They sneak into Ray’s powder room for a quick clean up, and David sneaks the hand towel they used into his bag. He’ll wash it at Patrick’s and then bring it back, hopefully before Ray notices.</p><p>“Hey, where is Ray anyway?” he asks as he hangs up his poor suit, which is now in dire need of a wash and a press. Patrick looks over his shoulder from where he is sanitizing the desk with a generous spray of Lysol. “Don’t forget to get the floor too. We kind of dribbled.”</p><p>Patrick laughs and crouches down to spray the floor too. “He’s visiting his mom in Winnipeg for the week. He asked me to stop by and water his plants—”</p><p>“But all his plants are cacti. Cactuses?”</p><p>Patrick grins at him. “Yeah, and they only get watered while Ray is away, because he never remembers to do it.” He glances down at the floor. “Shit. I’m gonna need to get something to cover up those scuff marks.”</p><p>David hums in agreement. His eyes survey the absolute disaster on the floor behind Ray’s desk, where his papers and other assorted detritus are scattered all over. “And you’re going to have to hope that Ray doesn’t notice that his desk is all out of order.” Patrick has his back to David, and he remains silent, although the tips of his ears have gone pink. “What?”</p><p>Patrick gets to his feet, his cheeks tinged a matching shade of crimson. He sets the Lysol and his handful of paper towels down on the desk and rubs at the back of his neck. “Um...so, I may have taken a picture of Ray’s desk when I got here? And removed all the breakable stuff?” His neck is going red now too. This is delightful. David is delighted. “And th-the papers and stuff were all just, like, props? All Ray’s stuff is in the kitchen.”</p><p>David knows he’s probably smiling like a lunatic, but this...this is just too precious. And it’s so very Patrick, to have this fantasy, but to be unable to make an <em> actual </em> mess. David loves him so damn much. He pokes his head into the kitchen, and sure enough, all the tchotchkes and knick knacks, files and folders and odds and ends that usually litter Ray’s desk like a hoarder’s yard sale, are all lined up neatly along the counter, little sticky notes with labels on them in Patrick’s disgustingly legible printing. There’s even a fucking diagram with measurements sitting on Ray’s kitchen table.</p><p>David pulls his lips into his mouth and clasps his hands together in front of his chest, turning to see Patrick leaning against the doorway looking so fucking seen that he might as well be an amoeba under a microscope. David knows his face is being very loud right now, but he cannot help but be tickled fucking pink at all of this <em> effort. </em>No one has ever put effort into David before. No one has wanted him enough to bother. And then this man...David shakes his head, and Patrick’s blush deepens. Crossing the kitchen, David wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, nuzzling his face into the warm, flushed skin of his neck. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Gentlemen!" Ray's voice booms loudly in the quiet of the store. David looks up from refolding the alpaca throws to smile as benignly as possible in Ray's direction. </p><p>"Morning, Ray," Patrick greets him from behind the counter. "Welcome home!"</p><p>"Thank you, Patrick," Ray beams with his usual level of over-enthusiasm. "I just popped by to thank you again for taking such good care of my cactuses. They're flourishing, just like they always are when you've been tending to them!"</p><p>Patrick smiles in response. "No problem, Ray. Any time." And if his glance happens to flit over to David, a mischievous glint in his eye, who's to say?</p><p>"I did have one question though," Ray barrels on. He digs around in his pocket and produces a small, blue button, holding it out for them to see. "Do you have any idea where this came from? I've been finding these buttons all over the place since I've been home!"</p><p>"Uh..." David watches with pure delight as Patrick's face slowly flushes a bright, rosy pink. "I, uh...um..."</p><p>"It's no matter," Ray plows on, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort he's causing Patrick. "I'll just put them in my lost and found and see if anyone claims them!" And then he's out the door with a shout of "toodles!" over his shoulder, and the store is quiet again.</p><p>David continues to fold the blankets, but he keeps an eye on Patrick, who is still frozen behind the counter, watching Ray practically skip across the street to the cafe. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, Patrick is holding up a silencing finger. "Don't," he says.</p><p>"I wasn't gonna," David insists. Patrick narrows his eyes. "Okay, maybe I was! But I won't now. Because I love you very much."</p><p>That seems to placate Patrick somewhat. "Thank you."</p><p>"Even if you are missing a few buttons," David murmurs under his breath.</p><p>"David!" Patrick laughs, shaking his head. And not for the first time, David cannot believe that this is his life, with this man, in this store that they built together. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Big thanks to NeelyO and blackandwhiteandrose for cheerleading. I started this fic over a year ago and it got lost in the void of my gdocs. </p><p>I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane for these two boys. Just let it be known that I do not, in any way, condone letting yourself in to your former employer/landlord's home and fucking on his desk. But I could not resist with these two 😉</p><p>Please leave a comment or a kudos if you'd like. You know I'd love to hear from you!!! Then, come find me on Tumblr @delilah-mcmuffin or on Twitter @DelilahMcMuffin</p><p>Until next time,</p><p>D McM</p></blockquote></div></div>
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